


Memory

by AbleG



Series: Orange Colored Sky [3]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Future Romance, Goodneighbor, M/M, Melancholy, daisy's discounts, general fallout 4 rating, i honestly don't remember if there's swearing, memory den mentions, mostly harmless, original sole survivor, spoilers?, still following canon fallout 4 events
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-18 11:49:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11290125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbleG/pseuds/AbleG
Summary: Memory looms heavy over a town like Goodneighbor. You either avoid it like the plague in the Third Rail, or you take it like a drug in the Memory Den. Whichever your flavor, everyone has to grapple with it. Even the mayor himself.





	Memory

**Author's Note:**

> This one was supposed to be longer, but I had to basically tear down my timeline and rework it but I still wanted to use this, because I love Daisy so much. She's great. I'm glad she had a bigger role than just as a shopkeeper. Basically, this is just some set up to action later. Also the reason to keep Novak around Goodneighbor. If caps were good enough to keep me in town in my first playthrough, then they're good enough for Novak.

Hancock’s memory was a strange sort of beast. Between all the chem use he subjected himself to, the numerous experiences he had, and the countless stories he had heard from around the wasteland, Hancock had a hard time distinguishing what was fact and what was a hallucination or a dream. One thing he knew wasn’t a dream was that Novak, the tall, dark, and handsome vault-dweller had paid him a drunken visit fairly recently. What he couldn’t recall was how long ago that odd encounter had taken place. Nights in Goodneighbor did tend to blend together, no thanks to the easy atmosphere that was almost as mind-numbing as the chems that could be picked up at every corner of it’s streets. The memory of the visit was indeed a memory, Hancock knew this. He had discovered Novak’s empty whiskey bottle just outside his doorway what he assumed was the next day. Novak himself was nowhere to be found. He had returned to the wastes once more.

Hancock was also sure that he had not hallucinated Nick Valentine finally bidding him farewell on that same day. The detective seemed at ease; not worried for Novak’s wellbeing this time around. Hancock assumed because Novak had bothered to inform Nick what he was doing before disappearing this time around. Nick seemed slightly distracted when Hancock had waved him off, but Nick always seemed to have his mind on a case or three. Nick didn’t know the meaning of the word “vacation”, which was real shame. If anyone in the Commonwealth deserved a break, it was definitely the guy who had to deal with the combined whining of the inhabitants of Diamond City.

This day in particular seemed to be working against him and his memory. The air was thick and hazy with a light fog and drizzling rain. Clouds had been hanging overhead since morning and, with no wind from anywhere to blow the weather away, it seemed like the weather was content with remaining the same. Like a lazy farm-hand, the sky continued it’s half-hearted shower for most of the day. Hancock had been more than content to sit and wait it out before even venturing outside. Hancock hated the rain. He hated being wet. He hated the way his clothes stuck to his body, and how the pressure of the air seemed to make his brain feel cloudy as well. When he was finally resigned to the fact that the rain was there to stay, Hancock pulled his frock collar around his neck and adjusted his hat in a way that he hoped would keep the rain off of him, ignoring the looks he was getting from a few boys from the Neighborhood Watch. Some braver folks liked to tease Hancock about his water aversion. 

Hancock wrinkled what little was left of his nose as soon as he made it outdoors. The air was thick with precipitation that was taking its time to fall. The humidity made it difficult to breathe. He glanced up at the sky, spiteful. It felt like the clouds were spitting in his face. Hancock’s memory was suddenly occupied with the distant thought of a small boy in Diamond City, locked out of his own house while his parents were out shopping, his older brother laughing as the younger nearly got washed away by the rain. 

“Let me in…! Please!! It’s cold out here!” The young boy cried as he banged his fists on the door. He was passed the point of trying to act tough. It hadn’t taken him very long to reach this point, since he was only five years old at the time. 

“The lock is stuck on this side, John! I can’t do anything.” a voice answered inside the warm, dry house by the river. It sounded insincere and like it was holding back laughter. “You have to use the spare key.”

Hancock remembered wailing in despair, then. He had dropped the key into a puddle of mud only a minute ago and couldn’t find it. His parents had the only other key into the house. It was another ten minutes before they returned home to find their youngest son sitting in that very puddle, his cheeks red from cold and tears and his clothes soaked in mud as he tried to find the key before he got into any more trouble. His mother had scooped him up and forced him to take a bath, which he deeply resented since he had spent the last 15 minutes dripping water in the rain. His father had given him a stern lecture about wandering around outside in a storm without them. His older brother was scolded for not letting Hancock inside, and then again when their father had figured out the door’s lock was functioning fine. Hancock felt vindicated, then. He may have lost their key when he went outside to explore, but his brother had locked him out during the storm as a joke. It didn’t matter if he was in trouble as long as his brother was, too. By the next day, both boys had forgotten the event entirely and were back to playing together with the other Diamond City kids. His brother had even punched another kid in the face when he teased Hancock near to tears about being so small.

Hancock sniffed and shook himself of the rain, bringing himself back to the present. There were some memories he wished he could brush away as hallucinations, or as dreams. They came unbidden and reminded him of when things were simpler. It wasn’t worth it to dwell in the past. Hancock had never found success in feeling sorry for himself. He lived in the moment. No looking back. Nostalgia was the one drug he was always wary of.

Ironically, his destination was the Memory Den. It had been long enough since Novak and Nick had made their visit, so Hancock figured he was safe to make a visit without anyone connecting the dots too quickly. With the weather the way it was, there were few people to even notice him on the streets. The residents of Goodneighbor were more likely than not taking up shelter in the Third Rail, buying drinks to warm their insides or simply enjoying the music. It promised to be a mostly lazy day in the old red-light district of Boston.

An odd noise cause Hancock to stop in his tracks before he even made it across the street. The sleepy drizzle of the rain against the concrete and tin structures helped to mute most noises, but Hancock could have sworn he heard the distinct sound of a bark. There was a population of wild dogs that roamed the streets of Boston, mutated descendants of the pets that were once kept by the people before the war. They were dangerous, feral animals that attacked on sight. They knew they had more than enough strength to kill an inattentive traveler, and a kill like that could last them a week. Goodneighbor had strong defenses, though. No wild dog was getting inside the town, and yet the bark sounded close enough to be well inside. He turned around to investigate, curiosity getting the better of him. 

Hancock had nearly rounded the corner of Kill or Be Killed when he saw the source of the noise. It was not a wild dog like he had originally thought. This one seemed unmutated and unmarred by the radiation. It had a healthy coat of brown and black fur, a handsome pointed nose, strong shoulders and legs, and attentive triangular ears that pointed up in a friendly sort of way. It’s mouth was open and tongue hung out to the side as it panted after a particularly satisfying shake of its body. The dog clearly belonged to someone, as well. Hancock had never known a dog to possess the ability to put goggles on its own head, nor a red bandana around its neck… or a pocketed harness that vaguely resembled the packs brahmin in caravans would wear, complete with all sorts of odds and ends stuffed into each corner that would hold them. Hancock wasn’t the only one who seemed amused, if not confused by the sight of the dog. A few citizens that were keeping out of the rain under the shops had stopped to gawk at the dog as well, but only until the dog turned around and barked at the door, wagging his entire back end along with his tail. 

In stepped a tired and soaking wet looking traveler. He was adorned with a worn leather jacket, sleeves pushed to his elbows and straps holding pieces of armor against the wearer’s left arm. Despite being worn, the jacket looked clean. Taken care of. At least, after a point. The leather had been treated to keep the rain from causing any more damage to the material, at least. A strong, sizeable belt supported the weight of a 10mm pistol at one hip and a revolver at the other. The combat boots seemed to be taken care of in a similar fashion to the jacket. The outfit was old, like much of the remaining clothing in the wasteland that remained from before the war, but it looked like it was now being well-maintained. Like there was some sort of value to the clothes beyond what the eye could see. A promise, or a memory?

That wasn’t what Hancock was most focused on. The outfit hardly mattered to him when he noticed the pip-boy fit snuggly on the traveler’s arm and the green-hooded gas mask on his head. Novak had made his way back to Goodneighbor once again. The first time Hancock had seen this man walk into his town, he was downtrodden. The second time they had encountered each other, Novak was hopelessly drunk. Novak had memories of his own that he had wanted to forget, it would seem. Whether or not he had succeeded in forgetting, Hancock couldn’t be sure. But as soon as Novak pulled off the gas mask and shook out his messy hair, he could tell that Novak was at the very least not letting his memories slow him down. 

Novak called to his canine companion, who came running to his side, and gave him a hearty rubdown. He seemed unperturbed by the smell of wet dog, which was fair enough. Many things in the Commonwealth had an odor to them, as deodorant and air fresheners were no longer being produced. Hancock couldn’t help but grin as the dog leaned heavily against Novak’s legs, exposing his belly for a good scratch. After a moment, Novak patted the dog on the head and straightened up, hoisting not one, but two bulging bags over his shoulder so it wouldn’t slip. They looked very heavy, and it made Hancock wonder how long he had been carrying that much, or what he really planned on doing with it all. He decided to keep to his usual alley and watch. He didn’t really have a deadline to visit the Memory Den, and he figured that he had earned himself at least one extended smoke break for braving the weather.

Novak made his way over to Daisy’s Discounts, not yet noticing Hancock. Hancock wasn’t surprised that a vault-dweller was so short-sighted. They lived with walls all around them all the time, there was no distance to look into. But in the wasteland, it was better if one kept their eyes trained one everything at once. Hancock shook his head as he dug in his pocket for a cigarette, one of his own special blend, and a match. There was a lot this kid still had to learn if he wanted to make it in the world. Protecting the match from the rain, he lit up his cigarette and stood as close to the old state building as he possibly could to keep out of the weather. At least Novak had the good sense to visit Daisy first, rather than K-L-E-0. Daisy was much friendlier than her neighbor, most days.

“Oh, a new face walks into my store. And you’re not even screaming yet. Very polite.” Daisy greeted in her usual smart tone. Like most residents of Goodneighbor, Daisy had some fire in her. She leaned forward, placing her hands flat on the counter before her. She gave Novak a friendly smile, despite her words. “Let me know if anything catches your fancy.”

“Did you say something about people screaming at you?” Novak asked as though he hadn’t quite heard her correctly. The dog at his heals cocked its head to the side, almost as if mimicking Novak’s confusion. There that damned vault-dweller went again, acting clueless about why people would have a reason to dislike Ghouls.

“That’s right. Some newcomers have never seen a Ghoul before. Can’t handle a friendly face, I say.” Daisy’s smile grew. Something in the bewildered way Novak had posed his question must have flattered her to some degree. Hancock couldn’t blame her.

But then, Novak had to go and press even more questions to the shop owner. “What’s it like, you know, being a Ghoul?”

Hancock couldn’t see the look on Novak’s face, but he felt like he knew what was happening there. Just from the way Novak asked, Hancock retrieved an expression from his memory. It had to be that look of ignorant inquisition that only a vault-dweller like him could possibly possess. No one else would brazenly ask such an odd question. No one, but a child perhaps. Someone who had yet to be taught not to question things, who had their curiosity stamped out in favor of more survival-oriented traits. Like not approaching Ghouls in case they went feral and bit your face off, which was what Hancock was almost worried Daisy might do to Novak.

“Well, it’s a lot worse when people always ask you about it all the time,” Daisy started to snap. After taking a moment to see that there was no joke or spite in Novak’s inquiry, she ran out of steam. She almost seemed regretful for answering a well-meaning question in such a way. Her smile returned slowly as she mended the conversation “But I guess I can’t really blame them. On the upside, I look pretty good for being over 220 years old.”

“Wait, you’re 220 years old?” Novak asked, his amazement clear in his voice.

Hancock couldn’t believe the gall of this guy. It was so stunning, he couldn’t even decide whether to be insulted by it, or if he had gained an entirely new level of respect. He knew that Novak meant no harm in these questions, but he also had the pretext of several meetings with the vault-dweller prior. Daisy, however, had not. There were two mistakes that Novak had just made. You never asked a woman about her age. It wasn’t appropriate. It also rarely ended without someone getting hurt. The second? Antagonizing Daisy. While Daisy was easily one of the sweeter and more polite residents of Goodneighbor, she was still by all definitions a resident of Goodneighbor.

Hancock figured that Daisy must have been very beautiful by pre-war standards, before the radiation had burned away all of her skin. There were things that the nuclear wasteland could not burn away about her features, though. Her soft eyes, her high cheekbones, the way she walked as smooth as a puff of Jet, her delicate hands and slim waist… Even as a Ghoul, Daisy was still quite attractive to many. Coupled with her soft voice and her relentless teasing and sharp tongue, many of the wanderers that found their way into her shop had easily fallen for her. Unfortunately, not many of them were the chivalrous type. Chivalry was mostly dead in Goodneighbor. It was dead in this part of town even before the war. 

Daisy said she was 220 years old. That was her own business. She had survived in the early days after the bombs fell, when everything was chaos and anarchy and when people had been reduced to primal, animalistic behaviors just to survive. Before society had been reborn. She had made it out of that tumultuous time. Daisy was now living in Goodneighbor. Daisy had lived until she was 220 years old because she was tough and didn’t take shit from anyone. People now knew better than to mess with her. Except for Novak, it seemed.

“Okay, okay, it’s more like 270 years, but don’t go blabbing that to everyone. Being a Ghoul means you live a long time. You stop counting birthdays.” Daisy relinquished, to Hancock’s utter surprise. He thought at the very least, Novak would get the tongue-lashing of his lifetime and would have to take several days hiding in a dumpster just to recover his pride. Instead, Daisy was entertaining his questions. She even seemed to like them. Hancock couldn’t understand why. During business hours, Daisy was nothing but professional, save a few sassy comments. But she was talking with Novak like he was an old friend. Like something about him sparked long forgotten memories of her own. “Do you know what it’s like being that old?”

“Actually, I do…” Novak said, something new washing into his voice. Hancock recognized it immediately. Inescapable memories that left the mouth with a taste of ash; things that could never be the same, no matter how hard you fought to restore them. The fatal mistake of looking back. 

But it didn’t make sense.

Daisy seemed to agree with Hancock’s thoughts. She let out her sweet, contagious laugh and leaned back slightly and regarded Novak with a wide grin. She was under the impression that Novak was giving her a hard time for getting oddly nostalgic. “Well, now you’re just making fun of me. If you were as old as I was, you would’ve been around since before the War.”

Novak said nothing. But he needed to say something. Not speaking, just staring Daisy down like he was implied that she was correct. He was that old. Impossible. There was no way. Maybe Novak had gotten his hands on some bad mentats that were screwing with his brain. Daisy nodded slowly as she decided to let the joke continue just a little bit longer. She wanted that dangerous taste of memory, to hear what he had to say. It would be wrong, of course. But her mind would correct him, and she would remember what things used to be.

“Let’s hear it. Come on. Tell me what the world was like before the War, if you’re so ancient.” Daisy instructed.

“I had a beautiful house, white picket fence, and a lawn with the greenest grass you’d ever seen. It was… peaceful. For the most part. Before the war.” Novak said, his voice heavy with the weight of his memories. Hancock almost had to take a step closer to hear him through the rain. He didn’t quite understand what sort of answer Novak had given Daisy, but Daisy seemed to. Her eyes widened slowly and her breath caught in her throat for a moment. The image in her mind, the one that she had dared to recall, matched Novak’s perfectly.

“It was… wasn’t it?” Daisy said at a mutter. She sniffled and quickly wiped at her eyes, laughing in spite of herself for how emotional she had become. “Sorry, the last thing you want to see is an old lady tearing up.”

Novak simply shook his head and gave her all the time she needed to compose herself. It didn’t take her very long to reign in her tears, but she appreciated his patience.

“Well, you’re either the most well-preserved Ghoul I’ve ever seen, or you’re the second-best bullshitter in Goodneighbor.” Daisy laughed as she looked at Novak in a new light. He had won her over in a single conversation. It was incredible.

“It’s the truth. All of it.” Novak confirmed confidently.

Daisy just shook her head. She didn’t know what to make of the vault-dweller, but she knew of someone else who might benefit from a talk with him, if he was being truthful. The pip-boy on Novak’s arm had put the idea in her head. “You know, if you haven’t already, you should check out the Hotel Rexford. There’s another pre-War Ghoul hanging around there.”

“I’ll be sure to make a stop.” Novak smiled.

Hancock stomped out the butt of his cigarette on the puddle-strewn street, confused by what he had overheard. Maybe Novak was part of some sort of weird, anti-aging experiment conducted by Vault-Tec? He could only imagine the side-effects that accompanied such a test. A pre-War Ghoul who wasn’t a Ghoul. No wonder Novak seemed so confused about wasteland basics. For all Hancock knew, Novak had spent all of those years cooped up in the vault he came from, never setting foot outside. One thing was certain, Novak looked damned good for being over 200. 

The rest of the time Novak spent in Daisy’s shop was filled with far fewer earth-shattering revelations, as it turned out Novak had brought weapons and supplies for trading. The dog who accompanied Novak was also carrying valuable goods. They bartered for a while, Novak asked about other shops in town and what they sold, and Daisy answered fairly. In the end, Novak left Daisy’s store with hardly any more space in his bags that he had entered with, despite Daisy being quite pleased with the business she had received. It was odd to Hancock, that Novak would travel all the way to Goodneighbor to do any sort of trading. They were well supplied here, so their prices were nothing special. There was no incentive to stop here rather than in Diamond City, though Hancock couldn’t deny that he was very flattered by the idea that Novak hadn’t gone there instead.

Lost in his musings once again, Hancock hadn’t noticed the dog coming up to sniff his coat tails until it was happening. Novak was close behind.

“Oh, hey Mayor Hancock!” Novak said, beaming at the mayor of Goodneighbor. The speed and vigour at which Novak had recovered from whatever had sent him running from the Memory Den and driven him to consume as much whiskey as he could was impressive. “Garbage weather we’re having, huh?”

“Yeah, not a big fan of rain myself…” Hancock replied. Novak seemed not to notice, once again, that Hancock had been hanging around since he had entered the town. Novak was also putting on this bizarre act of formality that was unnecessary. Hancock was no better than any of the other residents of Goodneighbor. 

“Oh, then don’t allow me to hold you up.” Novak stepped back apologetically, his dog following him.

“Don’t worry yourself about it, pip-boy.” Hancock clapped a hand to Novak’s shoulder. “We’re all friends here. If I didn’t want you taking up my time, you’d know it… or you’d be dead. Guess you wouldn’t know it, then, huh?”

Novak gave an awkward laugh, like he wasn’t sure if Hancock was cracking a joke or making a threat.

“Listen, I saw you over at Daisy’s just now doing some trading. You looking to make some caps? Get extra supplies?” Hancock asked smoothly, changing the subject.

“Yes!” Novak answered quickly, but pulled back his excitement. His cheeks went pink and he looked off to the side, embarrassed by himself. He fumbled to explain in a way that didn’t make him sound like he was desperately broke. “Well, I mean-... I need to head out somewhere pretty dangerous, so I’d rather stock up and be over prepared for it than to go halfway and have to turn back, or even die…”

Hancock couldn’t stop the chuckle that erupted from deep in his chest as he nodded at Novak. The vault-dweller was such a walking contradiction. Tall with defined and prominent muscles, yet a soft and friendly demeanour. Allegedly good in a fight, yet non-confrontational and submissive when approached. Knowing enough to plan for a long trip out in the radioactive hellscape that they called home, yet still giving the impression he had no real idea what he was doing. Hancock felt he had no choice. He had a soft spot for people in need. It would mean going against his very nature not to guide Novak in the right direction here.

“Tell yah what, brother…” Hancock said, patting Novak’s shoulder again in a friendly gesture and pulling him in closer. “I’ve noticed that you still haven’t quite found the rhythm it takes to dance in a town like Goodneighbor, but that doesn’t mean you can’t keep practicing the steps.”

Novak seemed to tense as soon as Hancock started to speak to him in a softer voice, like he expected to get pulled into some sort amoral business. “...Okay, what do you mean?”

“I mean that you got what it takes to be a Goodneighbor regular, and I think you should stick around. A place like this could do you some good. A lot of my fellow drifters here are in need right now, but I am sadly preoccupied. I may have a wide skill set, and I may be devilishly handsome, but I can’t get to all of them at once. If you were to hang around town and help out, I’m sure you’d be compensated for your work. I could even put the word out to my boys to keep an eye on you, in case anyone tries to give you trouble.”

“Like with Finn?” Novak asked warily, but there was a hint of sarcasm behind his voice. Hancock could detect it, and so he smiled at Novak.

“Kinda… just hopefully not as drastic right out of the gate. I can’t just deal with every troublemaker that harshly. Goodneighbor wouldn’t have any citizens left!” Hancock laughed.

“What’s the catch?” Novak ventured to reply.

Fast learner, huh? Good. Best not to go into business with anyone in this town without first knowing that some folks may try to cheat you, or take advantage of you, or even twist you into some sort of deal that you won’t be able to weasel your way out of.

“There isn’t a catch. I already told you up-front why this would help me. You’d be taking care of my town, while also getting yourself a few more caps. It’s a win-win.” Hancock explained easily.

Novak weighed his options for a moment, the contemplation evident on his face. “...Alright, Hancock. I’ll stick around for a little while longer…”

“Now that’s what I like to hear.” Hancock gave Novak one final pat on the back and took a few steps away. “See you around town, then. Maybe we can catch up over a case of mentats, or two?”

“Don’t wait up for me.” Novak gave Hancock a small smile.

“Who, me? Brother, I don’t stop my partying enough to have a chance to wait up. You gotta catch up.”

Novak smiled an odd sort of smile, like he was weighing his thoughts on the mayor. None of them seemed bad, just jumbled. In need of organizing. That’s what Hancock liked to see. Someone who was learning to take Hancock by more than just face value, and was still taken in by his charm. 

Hancock left Novak and his dog to their work trading in the small shopping district, if you could call it that, of Goodneighbor, satisfied with his work. So satisfied, in fact, that he almost forgot the reason why he had stepped outside into the rain as it was. It only came back to him once he had walked down the alley and saw the word glowing in capital, neon letters.

MEMORY.

The sign of the Memory Den was lit and glowing in the dim light of the overcast sky. It was a singularly unique establishment, built into some sort of entertainment venue from before humanity started to bomb itself. As the name would imply, the business there was all for memory. Reliving it, rather, by way of very clever technology that Hancock couldn’t even begin to understand. The place was run by two stunning and equally intriguing women. Irma and Doctor Amari. Hancock had quite the rapport with the former; another perk to his outgoing lifestyle. She was the face of the Memory Den, the one who had given it the style and class it was known for. She was the one who greeted clients with her smooth words and made them feel more comfortable in her care than they did in their own homes. Doctor Amari ran the more technical aspects, caring for the machines and maintaining their programming. She was far more frugal than her associate, but it was in the best interest of them both that they had found each other. They balanced out and complimented each other in a blend to rival the delightful combination of Calmex taken with a hit of Jet.

A Ghoul in old, pre-War clothes stood outside the building, smoking a cigarette and staring up at the rain. It just occurred to Hancock that the Memory Den might be getting an increased amount of business with a day as dismal as this. With nothing better to do than get soaked to the bone, why wouldn’t folks come to relive better memories of the past? The Ghoul outside the Memory Den let out a forlorn sigh as he reminisced about how things once were.

Hancock stopped at the sidewalk, his feet suddenly rooted to the ground. Memory. It was such a heavy burden. Memory could keep you alive. Memory helped you discern between an old tree that had fallen from the weather from one that was recently knocked aside by a wounded and very agitated deathclaw. Memory could also trap you in your own mind, forcing you to recall times long since gone, friends and family lost to time and the inevitable truth that no one went through life in this world unscathed. It was memory had brought Novak to Goodneighbor, then caused him to flee, and Hancock was intending to find out why? 

No. 

Hancock stuffed his hands into his pockets and frowned at himself. What was he turning into, delving into someone else’s personal business? Looking for answers within inescapable memory, which could be altered, but could never lie. This wasn’t the Ghoul mayor of Goodneighbor that people had come to respect. This was the behavior of some other politician that took their seat of power for granted. Whatever dark remembrances hung in Novak’s mind were no business of Hancock’s, or of anybody else’s. Not unless Novak wished them to be. Hancock glanced over his shoulder, back in the direction of Daisy’s Discounts, where he thought he still might be able to hear the vault-dweller speaking with someone else. He seemed so… hopeful. Whatever had plagued him in dark nights prior seemed a thing of the past. Who was Hancock to go exhuming those skeletons that Novak had struggled to put to rest? Even if Novak had only the strength to leave them half buried, it was a step towards reconciliation. Hancock had made up his mind. Novak’s memories were safe, and Hancock needed some good, strong chems to ignore his own.


End file.
